


Six Elbows, Six Knees

by devovitsuasartes



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Slurs, Trans Male Character, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 20:39:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9202241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devovitsuasartes/pseuds/devovitsuasartes
Summary: In which Mickey, Ian and Trevor deal with an awkward situation by having a threesome.





	

Three years and five months. That’s how long Trevor had managed to live and work in Chicago without ever being held at gunpoint, and it was a winning streak that had ended tonight. That expression, _looking down the barrel of a gun_ , he’d never really understood it until right now. It meant having a gun pointed at you in such a way that you could actually see a little way into the barrel, and the realization of what it meant - that if the person holding the gun pulled the trigger, the bullet would hit you right between the eyes.

Trevor didn’t know if Ian’s ex was going to pull the trigger. Fiona had told him that Mickey went to prison for trying to kill some long-lost half-sister of the Gallaghers, and Mickey wasn’t holding the gun like he was afraid to pull the trigger. He stared Trevor down with a cool gaze, like a big cat waiting to pounce, and Trevor wasn’t sure which was more frightening to make eye contact with: Mickey, or Mickey’s gun.

‘Mickey, put the fucking gun down, Jesus Christ,’ Ian said in a rush, holding out a hand placatingly. ‘This is Trevor. He’s cool, OK?’

Mickey’s gaze flicked up and down Trevor’s body. ‘This your boyfriend?’ he asked, sounding unimpressed.

The tone stirred a little anger in Trevor’s stomach and he lifted his chin a little in defiance, answering before Ian could get the chance. ‘Yeah, I’m his boyfriend.’

That elicited a smirk. ‘That so?’ Mickey lowered the gun a little. ‘So, you know where your boyfriend was last night?’

‘Mickey!’ Ian interjected sharply, flicking a glance Trevor’s way, looking panicked.

Trevor’s heart sank a little, but he steeled himself against it. He’d suspected something was up when Ian had flaked on him last night, and left a guilty-sounding message on his phone the next morning. Trevor had come to the Gallagher house hoping to straighten things out, and grown irritated when Ian seemed reluctant to let him through the front door, barging his way in anyway. It wasn’t until a pale-skinned, dark-haired thug with knuckle tattoos emerged from the corner of the room and closed the door menacingly behind Trevor that he’d realized his mistake.

Deciding that Mickey probably wasn’t going to shoot him, Trevor looked over Ian, who was looking at the ground. 

‘So you fucked my boyfriend?’ he said, turning back to Mickey. ‘And what? You think I’m going to break up with him for you? Run out of here crying?’

‘Oh, you ain’t going nowhere,’ Mickey said, taking a step closer. This close, Trevor could see that his eyes were blue; could see the reddish tones in his stubble; could see the tension in his forehead betraying his cool tone. And Trevor realized that, though the idea of Ian cheating on him might sting, it didn’t compare to how Mickey felt - face-to-face with his lover’s new boyfriend.

‘Maybe you’ve been keeping him warm for me, Princess,’ Mickey continued. Trevor felt a hot flush spread through him, briefly felt sick, wondered what Ian had told his psycho ex. ‘But who the fuck are you? Me and Ian, we’ve been together for years. Good times and bad. You’ve been his boyfriend for what, five minutes?’

‘Mickey, cut it the fuck out!’ Ian yelled, moving between the two of them and grabbing Mickey’s wrist, pushing the gun aside. Mickey didn’t fight him, just grinned lazily and stepped back, not taking his eyes off Trevor.

With the gun no longer pointed at him, stupidity and anger overrode fear and took the wheel. ‘You’re right about one thing,’ Trevor said slowly. ‘I’ve been keeping Ian _real_ warm.’

‘Trevor, don’t,’ Ian said, in a warning tone, one hand on Mickey’s chest, looking back over his shoulder. Mickey, for his part, no longer looked at all amused.

‘You never topped him, did you?’ Trevor pressed on, taunting. ‘You weren’t there, the first time he tried it the other way. Didn’t get to hear the sounds he made. I did. And he sounded g-’

Trevor was abruptly cut off by Mickey’s fist smashing into his jaw. He staggered backwards, but had enough presence of mind to duck as Mickey came in for another swing, lashed out in retaliation and landed a lucky punch to Mickey’s stomach that took the wind out of him. Then Ian was there, forcing them apart, yelling at them to stop.

Mickey was huffing out growls of breath through clenched teeth, glaring murderously at Trevor, when Ian grabbed his head in his hands and forced it around, forced Mickey to look him in the eye. ‘Hey, hey,’ he said quietly, urgently. ‘Hey, come on. Stop.’ As Trevor watched, Ian stroked Mickey’s cheek with the pad of his thumb, and Mickey visibly relaxed as he stared into Ian’s face. It was a surprise, to see the violent criminal thug who’d been punching Trevor just moments ago softening, tenderness bleeding into his expression.

The two seemed lost for a moment, so Trevor took the opportunity to sit down on one of the Gallaghers’ kitchen chairs, nursing his jaw.

As he looked at the two other men, Trevor realized that he and Ian were over. Even if Mickey left now and never came back, Trevor had seen the way they looked at each other. You didn’t get over love like that. You didn’t move on from that. Trevor would never be able to give Ian that. He liked Ian, thought Ian was incredibly hot, loved having sex with him, knew the feeling was mutual… but Ian had never looked at him the way he was looking at Mickey.

‘I won’t call the cops,’ Trevor said at last, startling the two guys out of their embrace. He looked up at Ian, at Mickey. ‘I’m not a fucking snitch.’

Ian was staring at him, looking torn. ‘Trevor, I’m s-’

‘I know, Red,’ Trevor sighed. ‘God, you're an asshole. But it is what it is, right?’

Ian still looked guilty as hell. ‘Hey, look, Mickey’s not going to kill you,’ he said, adding it on like a consolation.

‘Haven’t decided yet,’ Mickey sniffed.

‘He’s _not_.’ Ian glared at Mickey, unable to keep the fondness from bleeding into the glare. He reached up, tugged the hat off Mickey’s head, ruffled his mop of greasy hair. ‘His bark is worse than his bite.’

Mickey growled like a dog, snapped playfully at Ian’s hand, and Trevor laughed despite himself. He felt weirdly OK for a guy who’d been cheated on, dumped and held at gunpoint - all in the space of 24 hours. Maybe it was because he and Ian hadn’t been together that long, and they were more friends than anything else. Maybe it was because it was so obvious, seeing Ian and Mickey together, that no one could ever have come between them for too long.

‘I need a fucking drink,’ he sighed.

Ian smiled at him tentatively, opened the fridge and pulled out a six-pack of cheap beer. It wasn’t really to Trevor’s taste, but whatever. He caught the can that Ian tossed him, snapped it open, watched as Ian handed one to Mickey, then put the rest back.

‘You not having one?’ he asked.

Ian shook his head. ‘Fucks with my meds,’ he explained quietly.

‘You’re on meds?’ Trevor couldn’t remember Ian mentioning being sick.

‘You still taking them?’ Mickey asked, almost too low for Trevor to hear. Ian nodded, his eyes averted, and Mickey patted Ian’s shoulder comfortingly. ‘He’s bipolar,’ Mickey said, this time addressing Trevor.

 _Oh._ Trevor looked down at his beer. ‘I didn’t know.’ He thought back to the time he’d joked about Ian’s mom being crazy, and cringed inwardly.

‘It’s not a big deal,’ Ian muttered. He walked around the kitchen counter, grabbed his own chair, sat down. Mickey joined him, one hand on his beer, the other clasped protectively on the nape of Ian’s neck. Trevor didn’t get the impression that Mickey was trying to bother him by touching Ian in front of him. It seemed more like something that he couldn’t help but do.

‘So… what are you going to do, now you’re out?’ he asked Mickey, who flashed him a sharp, critical glare. ‘Oh come on, I said I wasn’t going to snitch. I’m just… curious. Especially if Ian is involved.’

‘Get across the border,’ Mickey said, after a pause. He pointedly didn’t specify which border.

‘You going with him?’ Trevor asked Ian. He noticed Mickey glancing questioningly at Ian as well.

Ian scratched his fingers through his hair, stared down at the kitchen table, then looked up at Mickey. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m going with him,’ he said quietly. Mickey gave a slow smile, his eyes lighting up, took a swig of beer to try and hide the reaction. Trevor took a moment to read the letters inked onto Mickey’s fingers: FUCK U-UP. Yeah, he could believe that.

‘So,’ Mickey said casually, one arm still slung around Ian’s shoulders. ‘How’d you two meet?’

Trevor tensed for a moment, wondering if Mickey was trying to find another excuse to punch him, but the ex-con looked relaxed, unthreatened. In the end, it was Ian who answered.

‘Trevor works with at-risk teens, finds places for them to stay. So he came around when Frank was running this homeless shelter…’

‘Frank was running a homeless shelter?’ Mickey repeated incredulously. ‘This Frank Gallagher we’re talking about?’

Ian chuckled. ‘Kind of a long story.’

‘Yeah, the shelter turned out be a bit of a bust,’ Trevor chimed in, grinning wryly. ‘But at least I got to meet Ian. And now here I am, getting punched in the face by his fugitive boyfriend.’ He raised his beer can in a salute.

Ian threw him a tentative smile. ‘Trevor’s cool,’ he told Mickey. ‘Introduced me to a bunch of LGBT people…’

‘LGBT, that’s, what…’ Mickey started counting off his fingers. ‘Lesbos. Fags. Bi, and…’ He seemed to get stuck on the last one. Trevor felt himself tense up, getting a bad feeling about this was going, trying to brace himself.

‘Transgender,’ Ian said, and Mickey could see on his face that he was silently begging Mickey not to say what he was obviously about to say.

‘Trans-gender… like trannies? So lesbos, fags, bi, and trannies.’

‘Could you stop saying that?’ Trevor said, staring at where his fingers were crushing the cheap metal of his beer can.

‘Fags?’ Mickey said, sounding confused.

‘No. The last one.’

‘It’s transgender, Mick,’ Ian said, glancing apologetically at Trevor. ‘Tran- the other thing is, like, a slur.’

‘So fucking what?’

‘So don’t fucking say it,’ Trevor snapped.

‘What’s your problem?’ Mickey laughed. ‘Scared one of them’s gonna overhear us?’

‘One of _them_ can hear you just fine.’

There was a silence. Then Mickey did the _thing_. The thing that Trevor _hated_ , more than anything. He did a double take, and then he looked Trevor up and down, quickly, his eyes glancing everywhere, looking for flaws. His mouth was a little open, momentarily stunned. He took a swig of his beer automatically, not taking his eyes off Trevor.

‘Mick,’ Ian said urgently. ‘Stop _staring_.’

‘Wait, I don’t get it,’ Mickey said, his brow furrowed. ‘So you’re, like, trying to pass as a woman? Gotta say, man, the mustache and muscle tee ain’t helping.’

‘No,’ Trevor replied, with painfully learned patience. ‘I’m a trans man. Assigned female at birth, transitioned to male.’

‘Huh. Weird.’ Mickey rubbed one of his eyebrows thoughtfully. ‘Back when I ran the rub n’ tug, one of my whores was a chick with a dick,’ he said in a conversational tone.

‘You don’t say,’ Trevor replied drily.

‘Yeah. Big strong hands. Good quality in a hand whore.’ Mickey took another swig of beer, swirled the can around so that Trevor could hear the last few dregs sloshing around. ‘Hey, man, uh… sorry for punching you.’

‘Why?’ Trevor asked sharply. ‘Because it was a dick move, or because you don’t hit _girls_.’

‘Whatever. Take it or fucking leave it.’

‘I’ll fucking leave it.’

‘Fine.’ Mickey belched, tossed his beer can into the trash, pulled a battered pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one. While he was occupied, Ian looked over at Trevor, concerned. After a brief pause, Trevor nodded back. His heart was still racing from the burst of anger and hurt, but he could deal.

‘So wait. How’d you fuck Ian if you don’t have a dick?’

Well, so much for calming down.

‘I _do_ have a dick. I have quite a few actually.’

Mickey’s eyes widened, his gaze flicking down to Trevor’s crotch. ‘The fuck?’

‘Made out of silicone,’ Trevor clarified, smiling despite himself at Mickey’s reaction.

‘And you’re into that?’ Mickey said, directing the question at Ian.

Ian laughed bashfully, nodded. ‘Yeah. I mean, I think I’ll always prefer topping, but… it’s fun to try new things.’

Mickey looked like he was torn between being jealous and horny as his eyes tracked the flush on Ian’s cheeks. ‘That so?’ He took a deep, thoughtful drag on his cigarette, looked down, then said, ‘Why don’t you show me?’

‘Uhhh, I mean…’ Ian looked uncertain, a little embarrassed.

‘I wasn’t talking to you.’ Mickey’s eyes flicked back up, his eyebrows quirked suggestively, and Trevor sucked in his breath sharply, unprepared for the intensity of that gaze.

‘Are you serious?’ Trevor asked, after a heated pause.

‘What’s the matter?’ Mickey grinned around his cigarette. ‘Ain’t got any silicone balls to go with that silicone cock of yours?’ He took the hand that had been resting on Ian’s shoulders, slid it down his arm, held Trevor’s gaze as he palmed the inside of Ian’s thigh. ‘Maybe you can teach me a thing or two.’

‘Jesus, Mick,’ Ian breathed. His eyelids fluttered closed. For a moment all the drama between them fell away, and Trevor lost his breath at how fucking hot the two of them looked: Mickey rubbing the inside of Ian’s thigh, Ian leaning into him like a plant reaching for sunlight. Slowly, Trevor stood up, walked over to them, rested a hand on Ian’s head and scratched his fingers through his orange hair, holding Mickey’s gaze the whole time. This was, on the whole, a pretty fucked up situation to be in. But Trevor had been in way more fucked up situations, and this one at least looked like it could get fun.

* * *

They went upstairs, and as soon as Mickey went into the bathroom to clean up a little Ian caught Trevor by the arm, pressed his forehead against Trevor’s, whispered frantically: ‘I’m so fucking sorry about all of this.’

‘You’re an idiot, Red,’ Trevor sighed, rubbing the back of Ian’s neck. ‘But it’s fine. Look. No hard feelings. Well, except the fun kind.’ He slid his hand down Ian’s stomach teasingly, and Ian sucked in a breath, blew it out slowly.

‘Are you sure you want to do this? With… with me and Mickey? I mean, it’s pretty fucked up. I’ve never even had a threesome before.’

‘This has been kind of a shitty evening. I’d like to get something good out of it.’ Trevor grabbed Ian’s belt, tugged playfully. ‘We can call it your going away party.’

The bathroom door opened abruptly, and Trevor held Ian firmly by the belt when he tried to tug away in alarm. Mickey stalked out, eyeing the two of them carefully, and Trevor held his gaze as he leaned in and kissed Ian slowly, roughly on the neck.

‘Fuck,’ Ian breathed, and Trevor felt him go a little weak at the knees.

Mickey swooped in, shoved Trevor off Ian, pushed him up against the doorframe. Trevor gasped, winced at the sting as Mickey grabbed a handful of his curls, yanked his head back, and then began biting wetly at his jaw, tasting his stubble.

‘Oh my god,’ Ian muttered, and then he was there, his thumb hooking into Trevor’s belt, his hand rubbing against the packer, grinding it against the sensitive flesh underneath, and it felt so good, so fucking good, Jesus Christ. Between Ian’s rough, rhythmic caress and Mickey’s tongue and teeth on his jaw, it kind of felt like being beaten up in a really hot way. Trevor canted his hips up into Ian’s touch and swallowed a moan. There was a little dysphoria nudging at the edges of his brain, but under the combined assault of Mickey and Ian there was simply no room for it.

‘God damn,’ Mickey muttered, and when Trevor looked down he saw that Mickey was unbuckling Ian’s belt, shoving his hand into Ian’s jeans. Ian closed his eyes, let his head loll onto Trevor’s shoulder.

‘How do you want do this?’ Trevor asked, not sure who he was talking to. It was Mickey who answered.

‘Ian’s gonna fuck me,’ he said firmly, his hand still moving inside Ian’s jeans. ‘And you’re gonna watch. And then you’re gonna fuck Ian.’ He paused. ‘While he’s fucking me.’

‘Oh Jesus,’ Ian laughed. ‘This is going to be a fucking disaster. Someone’s going to get hurt.’

Ian wasn’t completely wrong. When they finally made it to the bed, it became clear that six elbows, six knees, and three people with impaired coordination was a recipe for injuries and made it difficult to focus, so Trevor backed off pretty quickly and collapsed into a chair, rubbing himself through his boxers as he watched Mickey and Ian tug each other’s clothes off.

Honestly, he’d be happy to just sit back and get off on this. This was way better than any porn he’d ever seen. Mickey was on his back, Ian on top of him, looking hungrily into his face as his fingers worked busily between Mickey’s legs, where Trevor couldn’t see. Mickey’s head was tipped back, his fingers clawed on the sheets, occasionally wincing. Ian lowered his head, whispered something in Mickey’s ear that Trevor couldn’t hear. Mickey let out a low, helpless moan.

Gently, Ian rolled Mickey over onto his stomach, sat back on his haunches and tore open a condom packet with his teeth, rolled the condom on. He caught Trevor’s eye, and grinned when he saw whatever expression was on Trevor’s face.

‘Watch this,’ he said as he lowered himself over Mickey’s back, reached down to line himself up.

As if Trevor could look away.

Mickey hissed when Ian first started pushing in, grimacing, arching his back to try and push his ass up and ease the angle. Ian shushed him, rubbed the tense muscles of his shoulders, still easing in slowly. Ian hadn’t been lying when he’d told Trevor he was an excellent top. He kept a careful bead on Mickey’s pain threshold, slowly lowered himself down until his chest was pressed against Mickey’s back, kissed the back of Mickey’s neck, gave him time to adjust. Then, when Ian started thrusting, Trevor could see that he was searching for the perfect angle, and caught the smile of delight on his face when found it - Mickey letting out a muffled cry into the pillow.

‘Yeah, that’s it,’ Ian breathed. And then he started fucking Mickey hard, just really fucking hard, his muscles straining and pale skin turning pink with exertion, and Trevor was grabbing the cock he’d left here from Ian’s set of drawers, fumbling with the straps. He was a little self-conscious about pulling it on in front of Mickey, but Mickey was… thoroughly distracted.

He hesitated by the bed, trying to figure out the best configuration to pull this off. After a moment he climbed on behind Ian, who propped himself up on both arms, slowed his thrusts, turned his head. ‘You still good?’ Ian breathed.

‘Mmm. Want me to finger you first?’

Ian shook his head messily. ‘Just fuck me. The lube is…’

‘I got it.’

Mickey turned his head, twisted his body around a little, looked back at Trevor, groaned. ‘Oh, fuck you’re doing it now, aren’t you? Motherfucker. OK. OK. Jesus fucking Christ.’

He kept swearing, quietly, under his breath, as Trevor pushed inside Ian, gasping at the stimulation. It took a while for them to get into it. At first Trevor tried fucking Ian the way he normally would, the thrust of his hips knocking Ian into Mickey like the three of them were some kind of executive desk toy, but the rhythm sucked. Then Ian, bless him, figured it out. He started rocking back and forth, pushing back onto Trevor’s cock with a soft cry, then fucking forward into Mickey.

‘Oh fuck, oh my god, oh my god that feels…’ Ian kept it up, fucking back onto Trevor and then forward into Mickey, his head rolling on his shoulders, his whole body shaking. ‘It’s so much,’ he panted helplessly, sounding overwhelmed. ‘I can’t even...’

Trevor held his hips stiff, leaned forward, muttered in Ian’s ear. ‘You can do it. Look, look at Mickey.’

They both looked down at Mickey, at the flexing muscles in his shoulders, his sweat-soaked skin, the chaos of his hair as he buried his face in the pillow.

‘Take care of Mickey,’ Trevor murmured in Ian’s ear. ‘Make him come.’

Ian’s head lolled forward, but Trevor heard him say, ‘Yeah, yeah.’ Then he was going hard again, and Trevor heard Mickey’s gasps go thin and desperate, heard the grunt of him climaxing, and then felt Ian go still and shudder minutely, gasping in relief after he came.

Horny out of his mind, Trevor took the opportunity to cheat out a rough, hard rhythm, fucking Ian until his orgasm hit him like a gunshot, the feeling spreading through his groin, down his legs. Trevor laughed hoarsely, felt his cock slide out of Ian as his limbs went limp.

A couple of seconds passed. Then Mickey said, ‘Oh my fucking god, get _off_ me you fat fucks. Can’t fucking breathe.’

Trevor rolled off the top of the pile, landing on the other side of the bed, and Ian settled between the two of them. The three of them stared up at the ceiling. Trevor felt Ian turn his head, heard him kissing Mickey. He sighed, closed his eyes, stroked Ian’s stomach with the back of his hand.

‘What a weird night,’ he said at last.

‘Told you man,’ Ian said breathlessly. ‘Gallagher household. Fucking crazy.’

‘That felt good, huh? Mickey said from the other side of the bed. ‘Cock up your ass while you’re fucking someone?’

‘Jesus, yeah,’ Ian laughed.

‘Might have to try that again sometime, with me in the middle.’

Trevor remembered something else that he’d left here. ‘Hey, you guys wanna smoke some weed?’

‘You’d better watch your back, Gallagher. I’m starting to like this guy.’


End file.
